


So Close

by alexandrar0se



Category: Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexandrar0se/pseuds/alexandrar0se
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extreme emotions seem to pull more than just spirits from the Fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Close

The varying climates were starting to confuse her.

A month in the Exalted Plains, where the air was mild but thick with ash and smoke and death, would be followed by a month of travelling through humid forests and then uphill through freezing mountains--I guess there's a reason they're called the Frostbacks, after all. A week of rest and briefing and meetings and restocking would take place in Skyhold, before a freezing descent into the strong winds of the Hinterlands and north to the cold and wet of Crestwood.

Soon, no matter how strong she had gotten since she left her Clan, she would not be able to tell between snow or sun.

It had been a long while since Corypheus had emerged and the Divine slaughtered, and a long while since Inquisitor Sarasiara Lavellan had personally aided many towns and peoples across Thedas. Now that Corypheus was defeated, and Vivienne was elected Divine, Siara now had time to travel across Thedas like she used to with her family, her companions, to aid the rebuild of places that had been destroyed and harmed in the Chaos of the Breach. Few rifts remained, but one by one they were closed and the terror was slowly fading away

. Today, Dorian, Bull and Sera were accompanying her to New Crestwood, where--for the first time ever--it was arranged for her to go by Commander Cullen, rather than Siara picking it for herself. In fact, she'd had very little choice.

Crestwood had been rebuilding after their fiasco between the dragon, the bandits, recovery from the Fifth Blight and the undead. In fact, with spared Inquisition soldiers and some Fereldan labourors all too happy to get some hard earned coin, Crestwood had rebuilt the entirety of Old Crestwood that had been beneath the waves for a decade. It was such a beautiful sight, to ride in where they had been almost a year ago and see children playing outside their homes where once stood seaweed and bones and guilt and regret. Most of the folk that had moved into the expanded town were refugees that Siara had personally escorted from Redcliffe once the mages had left, and the fighting was over, and they were free to travel.

After being made welcome by the town's new Mayor, Siara and her companions were free to mingle. Dorian was lavishly laid across some pillows of the hall, telling glorious (well, gloriously exaggerated) stories to giggling pre-teen girls, enjoying their attention--and that of a cup bearer whom kept stealing glances at the Tevinter. Sera was chugging down ale, and actively challenged any man in the feasting hall who would take her on. Bull, of course, was teaching the young boys how to properly use a whetstone on a broadaxe such as his. All were enjoying themselves, and rightly so.

Siara, however, was having one of her days. She excused herself, and went outside into the cooling spitting of rain that tapped lightly on her skin. Her marked skin. She raised a finger to her forehead, wiping it along before raising it to her eye level--as if she were expecting her vallaslin would just wash away in the rain. The memory of the cavern not far from here wracked her, and she moved to a pillar and scaled it. On top of it, there she sat, clutching the elven artefact she had activated for Him so long ago.

Oh, how she missed him so. _In another life, vhenan_ , he had said. He'd left her, but he stayed. For the orb. It was clear what he wanted as soon as Corypheus fell. The orb had shattered, and his wise and strong demeanor had done the same. He looked a broken man, and he left. Without a trace. What was he doing? Where could he possibly have gone?

Sarasiara Lavellan, the mighty Inquisitor, the Silver Lady and the Herald of Andraste, let heartbreak take her as the heavy rain drummed down on her soul, and the tears fell.


End file.
